lifeaftr | January Event: Fade to Black

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January Event: Fade to Black

JANUARY EVENT: FADE TO BLACK

Who: Anyone and everyone!
What: Your true self comes to roost
When: January 21st - 23rd; January 25th - 28th
Where: All over!
Warnings: Dark subjects such as violence and self-destruction are likely to come to the forefront - please mark your content accordingly!

Down in that Darkness

This log is primarily for the Shadow and Light portions of the event, for ease and convenience. Your Shadow can be either the Persona-inspired sort - a "brutal, bitterly honest recreation of a character's worst flaws, darkest fears, and deepest secrets" - or the edgier, more laughable variant. The Lights, on the other hand, will do their utmost to convince their real selves of their best qualities, no matter how little they want to hear them.

Remember that the Shadows will be present from January 21st to January 23rd, and the Lights will be present from January 25th to January 28th.

On January 25th, we will post a separate log for Rejection Rooms!

Some useful links, for reference:

[ ♆ ] OOC Event Post
[ ♆ ] Rejection Room Sign-Ups; remember to note your interest in these as soon as possible!
[ ♆ ] Deaths Page; death penalties have been reduced for the duration of this event, but still do let us know if your character dies regardless!

Event Timeline

[ ♆ ] January 20th: The monthly Storytelling occurs.
[ ♆ ] January 21st: Shadows of both initial variants appear.
[ ♆ ] January 23rd: Shadows of both initial variants disappear.
[ ♆ ] January 25th Lights and Rejection Rooms appear.
[ ♆ ] January 28th: Lights and Rejection Rooms dissipate. Those still trapped in their Rejection Rooms by the event's end will suffer a character death.

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I know enough."

[The Shadow is flagging, but it doesn't seem to care. It considers the injuries that are inflicted upon it, and presses on regardless. It either does not experience the pain of that sort of injury, or it has the ability to push past it. Perhaps because it knows that only one thing can truly kill it.]

"I know what they are. A self-sacrificing, dying thing that does not terribly mind committing themself to the service of something that will kill them, because they will do all that they can to leave the world better than they found it.

"To leave you better than they found you."

[She wants to end this. She wants them to stop running their stupid fucking mouth, to make them leave and get away from everyone. With a yell, Beau jumps into the air, attempting to kangaroo kick the shadow before landing in a backflip. She wants them on the floor, she wants them under her fucking feet--]

What's so goddamn bad about that! Huh!

[Dairon's words echo through her head, the mantra she felt the last time she was beaten and bruised at her feet, that she must do good, that she must bring good, that her nature will be her undoing.

This is better than most stuff she's done here, she thinks. And it'll feel amazing to smack them down.]

You got something against saving the world! You got a problem maybe you could've helped instead of just complaining!

"Will it hurt, when they die?"

[Her kick snaps its head back, and it cannot rebalance itself quickly enough. Something cracks sickeningly in the Shadow's middle when it falls. It coughs wetly, spitting gobbets of pinkish blood into the sand. There's an unnatural angle to its posture when it rolls upward again, a peculiar hunch to its shoulders. Something vital inside it is damaged, and it moves as though it does not feel it.]

[Perhaps it doesn't.]

"When their illness claims them, and they leave nothing but the bitter memory of their presence?"

Will it hurt when I fucking kill you??

[She surges her staff forward, no sharp point to stab but still aiming to jab it into their chest, pin them down with her haggered breaths. She's tired, she's so tired, but fuck them and fuck this and fuck everything.]

At least people will want to remember them. At least they did something people care about! Not like you and your bullshit!

[The wood strikes home, sinks in deep, and it spits a foaming spurt of bright pink. Its blade is a bright spritz of cerulean, buzzing out at her face in retaliation despite its injuries.]

"I am something that cannot be killed. I am something that cannot be forgotten. I am something that cannot be dismissed or shut away.

"But they will be."

Edited 2019-03-19 05:02 (UTC)

[She'll take any hit they give her, any spit in her face or blood on her skin as she shoves them to the ground, puts a foot on their chest, panting as she holds the staff in their torso.]

Don't tell me what to fucking do. Die or don't. But never goddamn touch them again.

[The Shadow wraps both hands around the staff and, incredibly - seem to try to be yanking it in deeper in its refusal to let go. Its breathing is harsh and labored and it leans forward, grinding its body down along the length of the wood in a slow, painful drag that must be excruciating.]

[But it speaks through it, regardless, the words wrenching and brutal.]

"I don't have to. They are already dying without my help."

[She has a choice here. Beau has killed many, many things- people who wouldn't get out of her way, people who attacked her, people who happened to just be in the wrong damn place. Qualms about this sort of thing are a little beyond her. But she's supposed to not be doing that anymore. She's supposed to be helping people, to stop getting pissed and hit something instead of dealing with it.

But you know what? Fuck that. This fake nearly killed her fucking friend and they can eat shit for it.]

Then they don't need you making it worse! Fuck off and die already!

[And she reaches down, grabbing them by their mantle to finish the drag up her staff if that's what they're so intent on. Fuck this. She just wants it to be over.]

"I am them. They are me.

"You think I'M making it worse?"

[The Shadow laughs, harsh and crackling, shooting a spurt of misted, pinkish spray into Beau's face. The sound is wheezing; something in its chest has collapsed and snapped inward to pierce whatever it possesses as an excuse for lungs. Each breath is a whistling wheeze.]

"They will stop finding ways to kill themself when they are DEAD."

[She ignores the blood on her, dripping down her face in streaks of pink. Fuck anything else they say. She wants it to stop, and she wants it to stop now.]

Shut! The fuck! Up!

[She wrenches her staff out from them, for whatever damage that may cause, the blood on her chest, pants, hands, feet. But she isn't done, not until this fucker isn't breathing.

So just for good measure, she slams them in the neck with her fist. She won't let them bleed out, a chance of coming back. Just end it. Just end.]

[Her staff rips out from its sternum with a meaty squelch. That shuts it up, the crushing of its windpipe in a gesture that silences it the same way the slow degradation of vocal cords silenced the real Drifter. There is a poetic justice in that parallel, perhaps, but neither the Drifter on the ground nor the Shadow bleeding out have reason to pay much attention to it.]

[For about two seconds, it's silent.]

[Then it begins to laugh.]

[There's a small, round ball rolling out from between its broken fingers. The segmented parts of its shell light up in green.]

[It's a Roly Poly bomb, and it's about to go off.]

[With all three of them in its blast radius.]

"Better...run..."

[She's panting in exertion, clutching her staff white knuckled, for a second thinking it's over. That it's still, and finished, and she can go get the Drifter out of here after a quick break and--]

Son of a bitch!

[Beau doesn't know much about bombs- not her style- but she knows something about to get her when she sees it. Even though every part of her wants to fall over, she has a few ki points in reserve, and this is exactly the situation they're made for. Her heel digs into the ground as she focuses inside herself, that reserve of energy from all of her training, and surges forward at over 10 feet a second to throw herself over the Drifter, skidding into the ground against them and crashing into their back as she tries to take the hit.

She's got enough HP to take something like this. Probably.

But she knows they don't.]

[The Drifter manages to get up on their knees before Beau slams into them, spurred to life by the sheer pulse-pound of knee-jerk adrenaline that comes from seeing something that could end one's life. A bolt of adrenaline to their chest, rip-jagging their feeble and fading heart, gets them up on all fours just in time for Beau to send them skidding several feet across the dirt.]

[The Shadow is still laughing when the bomb lights up the ground in a hissing crackle of energy and light. It isn't much, ultimately - capable of taking out low-level threats, incinerating those who could be taken out with a few hits of a blade and merely injuring the rest.]

[It will still hurt.]

[When the afterimage of the explosion fades, there's nothing but the scent of char and ash - and the Drifter, prone on the floor.]

[Spitting blood into the sand.]

[Alive.]

[The fire hits her back, sending shooting pain over her spine, leaving her exposed lower back burned. She hisses as it does, waiting for the ringing in her ears to stop, the movement in her limbs. Despite not using more than one or two ki points that last fight, just to swing faster, the ache in her limbs feels paramount. Man, fuck this island.

After a few seconds of both of their harsh breathing, Beau drags her torso up with her arms, pushing herself at least onto her knees so she can pull herself over there, pain in her be dammed.]

Hey. Talk to-- no, fuck, give me a thumbs up or something, just say you're alive.

[She is gonna get yelled at for being so reckless by someone, but. Worth it.]

[They're alive. Of course they're alive. They're not entirely tracking the situation, the progression of one thing to the next, and they can't exactly say what happened in the seconds between trying to get up and ending up on the floor again. Their back and abdomen are live wires, rivers of fire pulsing red and heat into the coppery taste of their blood in the back of their throat.]

[They shake their head once, in an attempt to clear it. The motion makes their ears ring. They try again, until Beau's silhouette comes fuzzily into view. It's not clear, but it's there.]

[Roll onto their side, slowly, agonizingly. This much movement is likely inadvisable, but they still press one hand against the sand, pressing down in an effort to get to their feet.]

[They're moving. They move and that's enough for her to let out a loud exhale with the collapse of her chest, and then drop sideways onto the ground hard on her shoulder and let her head loll back. Fuck. Her head kind of flops sideways as she sees them start to push, and groans.]

No, no don't... do that...

[Any grace in her body has been abandoned for the sale of flopping sideways and dropping a limp arm over them in an attempt to keep them down.]

C'mon just. Sit? Lay? I don't care. Stop.

[A low rasp of air is the most they can manage in the way of a sound of irritation. No, they can't. They can't lie still and stop, not for a second. They're not capable of that. Not now, not ever.]

[The Drifter tries to shake their head. The motion causes their skull to ring - though that may be the after-tone of the explosion that nearly threw them off their feet.]

[They've no more health packs to give her.]

[This was an oversight.]

[They have to get up. They have to get up and get her help.]

[Damnit, they're still getting up. Okay, tap into that adrenaline Beau, let's-- let's do something about this. She takes the elbow under her torso and props it up, hefting her chest sideways and off the ground.]

Drifter, just-- we're gonna take a nap. Just a little one in, in the dirt here. And we'll be fine. Okay?

[Man, she needs to ask the Storyteller for some health potions, this is a situation she'd like to avoid in the future.]

C'mon. Not dead yet. Just need some time.

[They try to speak with their hands - can't. One hand has to stay clasped around their middle, half-curled around the throbbing, searing sensation of damaged and charred flesh. They make no sound, save for the labored syncopation of their breathing.]

[But still, incredibly, they're not backing down. They're going to get up.]

[Their companion sputters, chimes, and manages the words they cannot speak aloud:]

YOU
HURT
GET HELP

Me?

[She feels like she must have read that wrong. They're worried about her? They're barely alive on the floor and they're worried about her?]

No, fuck, don't-- I just need to hang out for a bit. Half hour, tops. And then I can get up. Just... just hang on, okay, we just. Quick break.

[Just like, an hour, just... just some. Just a little.]

[A furious shake of their head. She's hurt, and she has fought enough of their battles for them. They owe her for this. They owe her.]

YOU
HURT

[They don't have the words for it - to tell her, in no certain terms, that they're not about to force her to bleed out in the dirt because of the actions of their twisted doppelganger. She fought their battle for them. The least they can do is ensure that she does not suffer for it.]

[Augh, crap. She can't just butt heads with them until she gets through. As much as Beau forces her way through everything, she does have the ability to know when she won't win a battle of words. So she sighs, tilting her head towards them.]

Alright. I'm hurt. So you're gonna run off and leave me here, huh? What happens if someone else comes along?

[Maybe she can just keep them in sightline, a relaxation moment turned vigil. Maybe.]

I'll-- we'll call someone and wait for 'em here. That way it's easy for help to find us. Okay?

[It's a surprisingly sensible suggestion. "Surprisingly" because it's sensible enough for the Drifter to concede that they've no reasonable means to refuse it. This is unfortunate because the only thing that successfully takes their mind off their hurts is the act of doing something else.]

[They have nothing else to do.]

OK

[Oh thank god. Beau exhales a release of tension in her chest and then lets herself lie on her side.]

Cool. Great. Gonna... let's take a little nap. Heal up a bit. Wait for that, uh, that call.

[It's gonna be fine. She needs a little time and she'll get up again.

She always does.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

January Event: Fade to Black

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i feel like this whole thread is a cw but cw blood and whatever the hell this is

oh yeah that

AND NOW THIS, HUH

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